


How They Earned Their Titles

by BrokenKestral



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship, Gen, Kidnapping, Nymphs & Dryads, Titles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29557227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenKestral/pseuds/BrokenKestral
Summary: We are not told when the Four earned their titles in the bookverse. Here are four stories of how that might have happened.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie & Lucy Pevensie & Peter Pevensie & Susan Pevensie
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. Burning White

**Author's Note:**

> Adventures in Narnia prompt Prompt #16: Burning White
> 
> “One of the wise and awful truths which this brown-paper art reveals, is this, that white is a colour. It is not a mere absence of colour; it is a shining and affirmative thing, as fierce as red, as definite as black. When, so to speak, your pencil grows red-hot, it draws roses; when it grows white-hot, it draws stars.”  
> ~GK Chesterton, “A Piece of Chalk”

Recite the names of the four Kings and Queens. No, not their given names; recite their titles. Do you remember them? 

King Peter the Magnificent. 

Queen Susan the Gentle. 

King Edmund the Just.

Queen Lucy the Valiant.

All know their titles. But not all know the stories where the Four earned those names. Would you like to hear one? Come, pull up a chair. I will tell you how King Peter came to be recognised as the Magnificent.

* * *

My King bent over the map. From my* small height (not taller than half his arm) and my perch on the side of the table (after having run up the leg), I could see his face. His lips were white, his eyes burning, his entire face grimly lined and set. I do not he would have moved in a storm that bent the oldest oak.

I waited for him to notice me. I would wait all day, if it would help.

His eyes traced the route his three siblings had taken nine days before, beginning at Cair and moving to the Archenland border. 

Nine days ago, they had left.

Eight days ago, a Bird with exhausted wings landed by the High King’s throne, and told the tale of empty saddles, cut reins, and spent arrows. 

We had set out, taking their route, retracing it, while others flew to Archenland to see if our rulers had arrived.

Six days ago the messengers returned. There were no Narnians in Archenland. 

The Dwarves had saved the saddles, bridles, and arrows for us to see, and showed us the clearing. They had taken care of the horses, three of whom sidestepped in terror any time someone larger than a Dwarf came near. 

I, too small to be a threat, had jumped up onto their backs from a tree. Running lightly up and down on all four paws, grabbing their manes when they shivered, I discovered deep claw marks on their necks, scars running from the top near their mane to the throat underneath. 

The reins had been cut cleanly, as if by one blow—or the swipe of a claw. A big claw, a really big one. That was all we knew.

There was no scent that lingered, to tracks to trace, and no witnesses. We had lost them. We had lost three of our rulers!

And now my King bent over a map, tracing, tracing, tracing. He measured distances with his eyes, confined to his tent by our General after he exhausted himself in joining the search.

I did not want to tell him I had discovered nothing. I waited.

“Patterfeet?”

“Yes, sir?”

“What did you find?”

“Nothing, sir. I’m sorry sir.” I wanted to tell him more—about how I had run all the way to Archenland from our camp, how I had listened to every Bird, but somehow I was a little afraid. Not that he would hurt me, not at all, he was King Peter, but… looking at him was hard, like looking into the sun. Too far away to burn my tail or whiskers, but scary. You could only talk to it when it was going down.

“Not in the forests to the border,” he muttered to himself. “Not along the path. And not in the height of the mountains. So where? _Where?_ ”

I don’t think he was asking me. But I opened my mouth—it’s rude not to reply, and I didn’t want to be rude—when the tent door was flung aside.

General Oreius entered. He had to stoop to get through the door, bending his whole man-body forward, which would have been funny any other time. 

I wanted our rulers back. I wanted things to seem funny again.

I don’t think I could ever make King Peter laugh as I fell off a wall unless the other three came back. 

Or General Oreius. He didn’t laugh as much as King Peter did, but I don’t think he’d ever laugh again. His face didn’t burn, not like King Peter’s, but it reminded me of a huge stone balanced on the side of the mountain, where if I landed on it or touched it, it would fall off and destroy everything below it. But still stone, still immovable, still utterly terrifying in its weight and size. 

“High King Peter, I have managed to gentle one of the horses.” 

King Peter looked up. He kept his finger touching the map, somewhere a little ways from the fountain in the uninhabited, unmarked woods, but his eyes were fixed on the General. I wondered how the General could bear the look. 

Maybe stone could bear a lot of things.

“Once I had her calm, I brought Sir Caro to look at her. He’s one of our finest scouts-”

“I remember. And?”

“They are the marks of a Bear. Large enough to be a Talking Bear, indeed, larger than a Black Bear, Brown Bear, or any other claw marks left by Bears he has known.”

“A Bear,” the King murmured. His eyes still burned, but the lines in his face gave way to a set determination, his jaw clenched as tight as a Squirrel’s full of nuts. “Oreius, call all the warriors in. Leave the scouts still searching—I don’t want that called off if I’m wrong. But I have a place to look.”

“At once, my King.” The Centaur bowed and backed out, his body still held low. As the door closed I could hear his voice booming across the tents and fires, calling warriors to arms. I ran across the table and jumped for the wall, scurrying to grab my King’s sword. I tugged it over to him and lifted it as high as I could. 

“Thank you, good cousin.” 

He took it, but my arms trembled. He didn’t mean it. No, he meant it, he didn’t say things he didn’t mean, but when I did it before he would smile, and take it quickly so my arms didn’t get tired. And his “Thank you” would be gentle, and “good cousin” would be like a blanket wrapped around your shoulders by your mother. 

We _needed_ to find the three. I needed to hear Queen Lucy’s laugh, King Edmund’s calm voice poking fun at the High King like my brothers do, and Queen Susan’s touch on my fur when I was panting to remind me to slow down. I missed them.

He missed them more. He needed them. 

He had his sword on, and his shield, and most of his armor, where was—

I ran to the side of the tent door and up a pole, pulling off his helmet while clinging to the pole with my two back paws. It was _heavy_. I put it on my own head—it made it hard to move, it was big enough I could hide all of me in it, but I knew the way around the tent—and ran back to him. He took it without a word and sent it on his own head. 

“Patterfeet, stay here.”

“But King Peter, I’m your page, I’m supposed-”

“Stay.”

I went quiet. His tone burned with power and pain, and I didn’t know how to argue with it.

“Take all the reports as the scouts come back,” he said more gently. “If there are any sightings, let us know. We’re headed here,” and he tapped the place not far from the fountain. What was there? 

I did not think now was the time for questions.

“Yes, King Peter.” I watched him duck out of the tent, the red material fall back in place, and I brought my paws up to my eyes. 

I would _not_ cry. I wasn’t going to. I would hold all the tears inside—no, one got out—I’d hold all the rest inside and be a big, good soldier, and obey—there went another one—I would _stay here_ like King Peter wanted—I could feel the tears running down my whiskers, and I gulped.

“Why are you crying, little page?” I sprang backwards with a yelp, falling off the table. I felt the air on my tail and reached both hands out, catching the edge as it flew by, and I swung myself onto the underside of it, running along it and back up to the top again.

General Oreius was _scary_ at the best of times, and I ducked my head, because he’d found me crying.

“King Peter ordered me to stay here, sir.” I waited, for just a moment, because soldiers don’t complain, but—”I don’t want to stay behind, sir, I think he needs help, sir, and I want to be there.” I felt another tear roll down. _Bother_ crying.

The General sighed, heavily enough my fur rustled, and I blinked as he knelt. It didn’t quite put us eye-to-eye, but he was closer. 

“Do you remember how you disobeyed the High King’s orders before you were made his special page, because I had ordered you to?”

“Yes sir, it was when he was kidnapped, sir.”

“You may not ever disobey his orders on your own, but I think the High King needs someone to watch for him.” I looked up. I could do that! I did that well! “ _You are not to fight_. Not unless the High King is in immediate danger he cannot conquer on his own. But watch for him. Watch the risks he takes, and make sure they are not too high.” I nodded as fast as I could, the remaining water flying off my head. But then I remembered!

“King Peter said I was to wait and take reports, sir and come tell him here if I heard anything.”

“I’ll leave Por to do that, he sprained his paw climbing the mountains. Go. Do not be seen, do not be heard, but watch for our King.” I bowed, and sprang off the table, running for the door. I don’t think General Oreius meant for me to hear, but Squirrels have good ears, so I heard him mutter, “That keeps the spirit of the King’s command, at least. And he does need someone watching for him.” 

The camp was nearly empty. I could hear noises, muffled ones, a few feet stamping, the clink of armor, and the mutter of low tones, coming from one side of the tents.

I’d played seek-and-find with my very large family before, and I knew how to play this game. I ran sideways through the tents, to where they met the trees. I ran straight up the trunk, jumped to the tallest tree, and went as high as the other trees went. And then I circled round.

The troup marched out just as I reached them, and I ran as fast I could, heart pounding, till I was parallel to their head, where King Peter led. 

I nearly fell out of the tree when I saw him. I caught myself on a lower branch, holding in my gasping yelp. I looked again.

He _blazed_ with fury and determination, burning as white-hot as the deepest Dwarf forge, the eyes more terrible than his sword. 

_Evil runs when a good man goes to war_.** I could hear my Mom saying it, but I hadn’t known it was so terribly true. 

We marched for an hour, with his will bending us all on, till the High King halted in a clearing before a very dark hole. 

“There,” he said quietly, just audible to my hearing. “The entrance to a cave.”

“A place for a Bear to hibernate,” one of the captains muttered.

“Or to drag his prey,” King Peter added grimly. He swung himself off his horse, drew his sword, and walked forward. “In the name of Aslan, come forth!”

A rumbling of mocking laughing—far more than that of a single Bear—came from the gaping mouth. 

“We do not follow Aslan! But come in, come into our house! We’ve already had three of you, why not the last? Come in, if you have the courage!”

He drew himself up, sword held in front of him. “ _Where are my siblings?_ ”

Laughter mocked him again, and he ran. The soldiers ran with him, and I leaped for the next tree, scurrying for the top of the cave. We would follow him anywhere. 

I ducked inside, clinging to the ceiling. I waited for my eyes to adjust, hearing beneath me the clanging of metal on claws, the snarls and biting of the Fell. Where was the High King?

There. There, facing the largest Bear I had ever seen, taller than a Centaur, brown and _roaring_. But the King still burned as hot as a star. The Bear feared to attack, feinting and drawing back. The King drove him back, and back, against the wall, and rammed him through. He turned as the Bear fell, ignoring the thud behind him, and darted back into battle. 

I was supposed to watch him. I know. I failed, and I had to tell General Oreius later, which wasn’t at all fun, but I saw something. In the darkness, further back in the cave and around a wall, I caught a glimpse of movement.

It could be a threat to the High King! I ran, darting along the roof, deeper into the darkness. 

Three figures huddled against the wall, one doing his best to shield the others. 

The Fell wouldn’t do that. They weren’t kind like that. It must be the three! I ran down the wall, hurrying towards them in the dark. 

That wasn’t smart. I was supposed to watch King Peter and make sure he was smart, and I should have been smart myself. King Edmund heard my claws on the wall, and kicked out, and I went sailing.

“Oooof,” I groaned as I hit the floor. He didn’t kick quite as hard as a Centaur, but he’d been trained by one.

“Edmund! That’s Patterfeet!” 

“I’m sorry, your Majesty, your Majesties, I’ll be over as soon as my head stops spinning, I’ll be right over, I’m coming!” I got to my paws—I think I did, anyway, I could find three of them—and limped over. “I’m running up your leg now, your Majesty.” I thought I should learn from my mistakes. 

“My deepest apologies, good cousin. I did not know it was you.” 

“Are you all right, Patterfeet?” Queen Susan added.

“I knew it was you, but you’re easier to see, your Majesty, which is how I found you, of course.” I ran up his side—that helped, it made _up_ very clear. “I think I’m fine, Queen Susan.” I turned, tail out for balance, running down his arm to his wrist.

I felt cold metal, and though I tugged at it, I couldn’t move it. I had hoped for rope, which I could chew through.

“I can’t help, your Majesties, I’m sorry, but I’ll go get someone who can.”

“Be careful, good cousin,” King Edmund said, kneeling and lowering his arm to the ground before I could climb down. 

I ran into a wall. Normally that would be a bad thing, but the Fell had flung the keys by the wall, and I ran right over them.

“Your Majesties! I found the keys!”

“Here, good cousin, put them here!” I put them in King Edmund’s fist, and he stood up as fast as a Squirrel when a branch breaks. A moment later metal rattled, and chains were falling. I dodged aside. He turned, reaching for his sisters, and a moment later their chains were falling as well. 

“We must stay back from the battle, but move away from here. Lu, can you move? Do you need help?”

“I can make it,” the Queen panted, and my tail dropped to the floor. Her voice held pain like a wounded soldier’s cry. 

“I’ll take her other side,” Queen Susan’s voice said, and the silhouettes drew closer together. I led the way back around the wall, and I heard the footsteps behind me pause. I looked back to see the three of them blinking in the light from the entrance. Queen Lucy’s arm, laid around her sister’s shoulders, was covered in dark, dried blood.

But none of the three were looking at Queen Lucy. Their eyes were fixed on something ahead of us. 

“Oh, Peter,” whispered Queen Susan. 

I turned around. Around the High King lay dead or dying Fell. His helmeted crown shone in the light, his sword flashed in a dancing flame, and his entire being radiated that terrible light of unstoppable glory. 

The rest of the Narnian soldiers were finishing their last battles, or leaning panting against the wall, their eyes on their King. None of us could look away. 

The last Fell, a shrieking Hag, fell under the High King’s blade. As her last cry died away, the cave grew silent. 

The High King lowered his blade, looking around. Those relentless eyes missed us in the dark, as the warrior spun in a slow circle, looking for threats—or his siblings, probably. I cleared my throat. 

“King Peter?”

He spun, right to the sound of my voice, eyes now piercing the dark. “Patterfeet? You were to-” He saw the three behind me.

A frozen moment, then he was striding forward. I got out of his way, darting to the left, then turning to look. Already he had his arms around the three, those burning eyes closing as he held them. “Thank Aslan,” was a whisper we all could hear.

A moment later he stepped back. “What do you need?” he asked, his tone as kind as his blade had been deadly. “Lu, you’re hurt—let me see.”

King Edmund turned to her, leaving his arm around her waist. “The Bear went for her first, and it spooked all the horses. We hadn’t a chance. It raked her arm.”

“It’s infected, and she’s burning with fever,” Queen Susan added. “Without light, we couldn’t-”

“They gave me all their water,” Queen Lucy said, a small, brave smile on the pain-white face. “I’ll be better within days, Peter, truly.” Without a word, King Peter handed his brother his sword, and lifted his sister in his arms.

“Where were you all?” he asked, he settled his sister in his arms. 

“Our ill-favoured hosts hid us further back in,” Queen Susan replied, indicating where they were chained. King Peter looked into the dark for a long moment.

“Think you there are any other prisoners held there?”

“None we could hear, but it would not be amiss to send Dwarves with lanterns to explore.”

“‘Tis huge,” my King said, and I could hear the wonder in his voice as he stared into the infinite blackness. “‘Tis almost a kingdom leading underground.” He shook himself, glancing down at the wounded sister in his arms, and strode out towards the horses.

Orieus was right behind him, offering the Gentle Queen his arm and looking the two others over for hurts. I went with the High King, a step behind so he would not see me, but there to watch.

I watched as he lifted his sister on his horse; I followed as he rode to a stream and bathed her arm; I saw him serve his other siblings and his wounded soldiers water. The dignity of his work made his Kingship greater, a leader who served. I saw him stay close, and love, and then, finally, as General Oreius called my name and I fell from a tree right on top of the Four, I saw him begin to laugh.

He laughed with his whole soul, his whole voice, and it spread to his siblings, his soldiers, and even me, his page.

The High King. As magnificent in joy and service as he was in war.


	2. A Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adventures in Narnia Prompt #17: One of the Four meets a dragon—future enemy or future friend, it’s your choice.

Yesterday you heard the tale of the Magnificent King earning his title. Today, perhaps, you would care to listen to how the youngest Queen gained hers? Forever and always, she said it was her brothers’ fault… 

Lucy had planned a lovely afternoon of wandering away by herself. Her older siblings did care for this particular habit of hers, and made their feelings quite plain over breakfast.

“Lucy, it really isn’t safe.”

“I’d agree,” Edmund cut in, ignoring Susan’s reproving glance as he interrupted her. “It has a bad history of things happening. You got yourself kidnapped by a Faun-”

“It was Mr. Tumnus, and it not only turned him back to Aslan’s side, it brought all of us to Narnia-”

“Kidnapped by Wolves and taken to a Fell camp-”*

“Letting the three of you clean out the camp while bringing Ren and her family back here, and honestly, you  _ know  _ they’re some of our most loyal guards now-”

“Lost yourself in sea and had to be rescued by mermaids-”

“Allowing us to meet more of our subjects of the sea than we’d met in months-”

“Talked to a Turtle that led to an adventure where you were washed overboard, fell down a mountain  _ during an avalanche _ , fought against pirates, and were betrayed by one of your new friends-”**

“Bringing back many Narnian Lords in the process, and I was with her for that one,” Peter interrupted. 

“But there does seem to be a pattern,” Edmund argued back. 

“I went out by myself two days ago without any kidnappings or battles,” Lucy fired back, before picking up a piece of toast and taking a rather large bite. 

“You did get yourself utterly drenched helping the Otters and almost caught a cold. Lucy, it’s not a good idea.” 

Susan’s gentle tone went easier on Lucy’s pride than Edmund’s ribbing, and she was about to gracefully give in when Peter spoke.

“You do have a habit of making new friends through dangerous situations. But today the representatives from all our allies arrive, and I’d really rather we didn’t have a fuss.”

“I don’t cause a fuss!”

Peter shrugged. Normally he’d go a bit easier on his youngest sister, but a long night dealing with an overanxious steward who twittered and cooed at every problem left him short on sleep and short in patience. “Do as you like,” he said shortly. “Only don’t get in trouble.” He dropped his gold-embroidered napkin on the table and left. 

“I really should take over dealing with Mooneyes. She’s brilliant at solving unexpected problems, but she doesn’t deal well with any problem that hasn’t actually arrived yet.” Susan sighed. She folded her napkin up neatly, resting it on her plate and putting her silverware crossed on top. “I’ll go see if I can ease the load of the guests somewhat.”

That left Lucy and Edmund alone at the table, and as any wise parent would tell you, that was a bad idea.

“Peter’s grumpy.”

“Peter hasn’t slept,” Lucy defended him. 

“Well, better stay at home then, and not cause any trouble. We wouldn’t want dear Peter to lose any more sleep dealing with any of your adventures.” Edmund shoved his chair back and left. If Lucy had been paying attention, she might have seen the way his fingers restlessly clenched and unclenched, or the way his shoulders were stiff, and have realised that something was bothering him. But there was so much bothering her after her brothers’ teasing that she didn’t.

_ I need that walk by myself more than ever. I shan’t get into any trouble, and I’ll come back in a much better mood, and more able to help _ , she rationalised to herself as she folded her own napkin in half and laid it beside her plate. She knew she was going on the walk anyway, but she wanted to do so with a clean conscience.  _ And Peter didn’t say I  _ _ couldn’t _ .  _ Nor Susan _ . 

Her conscience might have pointed out that Susan rarely forbid anything these days, after so many lessons in diplomacy, and Peter was too tired to see how determined she was, but she determinedly drowned out the voice of conscience, went to her room, put on her boots, mittens, and cloak, and went out for her walk.

It was, as you may have guessed, the middle of winter, just after the Christmas celebrations. Perhaps all of the children (for they were children still, no matter their responsibilities) were feeling the pall that falls after such light, colour, and joy finish, and normal cold life sets in. Lucy at least had felt it, and her heart grew restless within the confines of duty and drudgery. Hence her walk, where she was determined to find joy. 

But in her walk she went a bit farther afield than she meant to, for she was walking with great big strides (for a little child) that absolutely crunched the snow that came up to her ankles, and her determination to have a good time, while spoiling the good time, forced her to cover a good deal of ground. Lucy, her fingers growing numb within the mittens (made by Mrs. Beaver) and her face so cold she couldn’t feel it, turned around to go home and realised Cair Paravel was out of sight. 

Lucy's heart sank. Truly, all she meant to do was have a good time, and now she was cold, alone, and with a very long walk back. This was not a good time at all. 

Still, she knew the best way to do a hard thing is often to begin, so she began trudging along, following her own footsteps. 

But she hadn’t gotten very far when a swath of them disappeared. They disappeared because all the snow in the clearing had disappeared, though a very thin layer of ice lay on the grass. In the middle of it was an odd burned area. Lucy bent down, her numb fingers out to prodd it.

“I wonder what happened here,” she said out loud. “It can’t be a phoenix, Mr. Tumnus said we don’t have them in Narnia.”

A low, deep, rumbling laugh sounded to the right of the clearing. “I happened,”*** the voice hissed, with a sound like escaping steam. “And I am not most definitely not a phoenix.” Lucy looked over, and there, among the trees, saw a head as big as her stomach, long and reptilian, with three ridges running over the head lengthwise from the eyes. The eyes were almost as large as her hand, with a cat’s slitted pupil in the middle of a gold iris, shot through with brown, and set on the sides of a forest-green face. It was looking out from among the height of the trees, attached to a very long neck; and Lucy could suddenly make out a very large body mixing with the brown and green of the evergreene trees. 

“How do you do?” Lucy asked politely, and the steam-escaping hiss came again. Lucy, looking as the eyes blinked and the mouth opened, decided it was a laugh, and smiled back. “I do not mean to be rude, please, but what are you?”

This time flames flickered around the open mouth as it laughed. “I am a dragon. You, from what I have studied, are a Daughter of Eve, and likely one of the Four who replaced the Witch who once reigned here? I have come to see you, and your kind.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Lucy said, realising she had perhaps better be extra polite since it knew she was a Queen. “I’ve never met a dragon before. Where do you live?”

“Far in the North, beyond the cities of Giants, farther than any but three have ever gone.” The head dipped a bit, till it held itself at about the height of her head. “Come closer, Queen of Narnia. I would like to see you better.”

_ It sounds as bossy as Edmund was this morning _ , Lucy thought, a little of her crossness coming back. It had fled in the face of something so new and interesting, but here the dragon was, proving itself just like everyone else. Still she could be polite. So she crossed the clearing and went to stand just to the side of the dragon’s head, where its eye could see her best. She noticed, as it looked at her and she studied it, that the ridges were edged with grey, and the scales had the barest outline of it, and where the mouth folded back into the neck in a strange divot without scales. “You’re two different colours!” she exclaimed. “It looks very pretty.” 

This time the dragon turned its head aside as it laughed so hard its sides heaved and fire shot from its mouth, melting the ice in the clearing. “I am old, young one, very old! I find the hard winters of the North more unpleasant now than formerly. But your country is rife with life, and warm by contrast. I am pleased with it.”

“I am glad,” Lucy said, for she hadn’t known Narnia would be appealing to a dragon—and she liked having a friend who laughed so easily. “Perhaps we can find a place for you. Do you like living in trees? I thought dragons lived in caves.”

“Oh, we live where we must, but what we love best is to live by stone. Our breath heats it and it holds the heat, sometimes even glowing as red as the most scarlet of scales, and it feels like solid fire. Wood does not hold fire so easily.”

“I would imagine not,” Lucy murmured, picturing a cave glowing scarlet. It would be lovely, even if she couldn’t go in. “You’re very warm,” she added suddenly, for her face had been thawing slowly enough she hadn’t noticed, but her fingers had warmed to the point of aching. “I should say thank you for that, I was quite cold.” 

The great dragon head nodded. 

“Would you like to come back to Cair Paravel and meet my brothers and sister? I could introduce you. What’s your name?”

“My name I do not give out to any save in one circumstance; ‘tis the dragon way, among the dragons that bear names. But I will see your siblings later. I mean to greet them as a dragon should greet King and Knight, and that will be later. But it was good to see a Daughter of Eve, Queen of Narnia.” The head sank down, resting on the ground, and the eyes closed. 

Lucy, after a minute’s thought, patted the ridge above the eye. The eye opened, regarding her, and she curtsied before leaving. 

_ That felt a little odd _ , she thought as she walked home, much warmer than she had been.  _ I wonder why? _ She thought back to the dragon’s—a  _ dragon! _ —the dragon’s words.  _ It didn’t treat me like a Queen, like everyone else does. Of course, it’s not Narnian—I’m sure our friends arriving today won’t treat me like their Queen either. But wait, it wasn’t just that. They’ll treat me differently than it did. It almost acted as if it were  _ _ my _ _ ruler; or as if it was above me. Perhaps I’d better mention that to the others, so they’re warned. I wouldn’t want them to start fighting with my new friend, just because today is busy and Peter’s tired and everything _ . 

Though she had grown quite warm, her fingers and nose were cold again by the time she reached Cair Paravel and entered into the side door. Susan, just inside the door and looking for her, exclaimed at her red cheeks and icy fingers, and sent her directly to the kitchen to get something hot to drink. Susan was off doing something else before Lucy could tell her about her new friend—and warn her to expect a very different kind of company sometime today! So she set off obediently to the kitchen.

Edmund met her on the way, falling quietly into step with her without saying anything, at least until they reached a hallway with no one else.

“I say, Lu, stop a moment.” He looked down at his fingers, fidgeting a bit before looking back up into her face. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. I was a beast at breakfast.”

“Forgiven,” Lucy said at once, because of course he was. But, in a better mood herself now, she noticed his fingers and his shoulders, still tight and clenched. “Is something wrong?”

Edmund shrugged. “The representative from Galma arrives today. He’s… I think he might be in league with the pirates, and if he is, showing him over the Cair is a terrible idea. Or at any rate, I think he trusts the pirates more than he trusts  _ us _ . He told one of his servants we’re nothing but grasping children, who killed a rightful ruler just to take her place. Pax, Lu,” he added as he saw her indignant expression. “Attacking him won’t do anything but harden his opinion of us. Only I’m not sure what to do about it yet, and I know Peter depends on me to come up with  _ something _ .”

“Well,” Lucy thought out loud, forcing herself to calm down and try to  _ help _ , “maybe my new friend could provide a distraction.”

“Oh? Who have you met this time?”

“There’s a dragon in the woods that I met on my walk this-” and she stopped, because Edmund had stopped dead in his tracks.

“Lucy,” he said very quietly, “dragons are aggressively territorial creatures, and if there was one near the Cair we would have known it. If one has flown in—how are you unharmed? Didn’t it try to eat you?”

“Of course not! It was very… well, not polite, it was a bit arrogant, but it was interesting to talk to.”

“It spoke?” Edmund’s face was turning quite pale. “Lucy, did it tell you its name?”

“No? It said dragons didn’t give out their names, except in one circumstance. Edmund, what’s the matter? You look quite sick.”

“We’re going to go see Oreius, and Peter,” Edmund said, grabbing Lucy’s hand and suddenly pulling her along at a great rate. “We’ve got to find them  _ now _ .”

Lucy, running to keep up (and warming up all over again as they ran up stairs and then down into the study when Peter wasn’t in his rooms), soon had no breath left to ask questions. So when they found both King and General discussing guards for the newly arrived and resting delegates, it was Edmund who spoke.

“Peter—there’s a dragon.” 

Both the Centaur and the King turned hastily.

“Lucy found it this morning.”

Lucy though that was a bit unfair. Yes, alright, she’d gone on a walk after all three siblings told her not to, but Edmund didn’t have to phrase it like the dragon was her fault.

“And Peter,” Edmund added, warning and perhaps a bit of fear filling his tone, “the dragon talks.”

“Did it give a name?” Oreius interjected sharply. When his eyes flicked to Lucy, she shook her head, still out of breath from the run after the long walk. 

“Did it hurt you?” Peter asked, just as sharply.

Lucy shook her head again. “It seemed friendly,” she panted. 

“Perhaps, if her Majesty got a good look at it, we can still discover which dragon it is,” Oreius thought out loud. 

“Which dragon?” Peter and Lucy chorus together, his voice louder than her breathless one.

“If it speaks, your Majesties, there are only three known dragons who do so, all who dwell in the North. Dragons are often mute and beastly creatures. Narnia has dealt with them a few times before, when a Narnian King freed the Lone Islands, and when an influx of them came from the North after a cruel winter destroyed their food. All were fought as knights fight dumb bears or lions. But there are a few dragons—whether enchanted by evil or made by Aslan, I do not know—who speak and reason as Narnian Animals do.”

“Were any of them kind?” Lucy asked, her breath coming easier. Peter absently pulled out a chair for her and Edmund, and they both sat. 

“If any of them were kind, they are rarer than good Giants. I have not heard of any. There were three, Iiro the Scarlet, Plague of Herfong; Smaug the Great and Terrible, who vanished from our world, and Seleth the Silver-Tongued, Ancient Monster of the North. What did the dragon look like?”

“He was a dark green, with gold and brown eyes, and he was very old, he said. Oreius—does he sound like Sethen?”

“Yes, your Majesty. If the stories prove true, he, like the two others, wears scales impervious to any weapons, savec for one spot on their body. But legends do not tell where those spots are.”

Lucy sank a little deeper into her chair. She had been hoping, all through Oreius’s explanation, that  _ this _ dragon would prove a true friend; that somehow she had found the good dragon, for such a dragon would surely be drawn to Narnia.

But she did not know yet this truth, that though good calls to good as like calls to like, evil is also drawn to good, to maim and rip and tear. But she was to learn. 

“We need to go find it, and either do battle long enough to find that spot, or to send it back to the North,” Peter said grimly, and Lucy roused herself.

“It said it’s coming here,” she reported, looking from Peter to Oreius to Edmund. “It said it would come… in the proper way to greet Kings, or something.”

“If it’s coming here, we need to get our allies inside the keep, and all the servants,” Edmund said. 

“At once,” Peter agreed. “I’ll take the guests. You take the rest? And Lucy, you take the stables, and help with all the dumb beasts?” Lucy nodded, and the three set to work at once.

Oreius directed the soldiers, moving all the helpless to the inner walls of the castle. The servants filled buckets upon buckets with water, and vases, basins, bowls, anything that would hold liquid. The Birds flew the entire library to a room without windows, each Bird clutching a book in their claws, and Raccoons took down all the tapestries, rolling them up to store away. Cair Paravel felt bare and empty, as if no one lived there but ghosts.

Late morning wore into afternoon, and Lucy got the dubious pleasure of spending lunch with their guests. The couple from Telmar were nervous, and Susan spoke with them. King Lune was cheerfully discussing strategy with Edmund, the knight from the Lone Islands was constantly loosening his sword, and telling anyone who would listen (which right now happened to be Peter)  _ exactly _ how the dragon from their past was defeated, and the representative from Galma was scowling in the corner. 

Lucy did not particularly feel like making any more new friends, considering how news of her newest one caused the entire castle to hunker down in the inside room, unless one happened to be unlucky enough to be a sentry. But Lucy had something called principles (which in her case meant trying to do what Aslan wished at all times), and they told her this unpleasant friend of pirates was her guest and her responsibility, and so she picked up her plate and went over to him. She heard Edmund’s conversation with King Lune cut suddenly short, and she wondered if her brother worried for her or for the Galman representative. 

“I’m very sorry this is your first afternoon here. Most of the time Narnia is lovely,” she said as she sat down next to the tall, thin man with black hair. He gave her a disagreeable glance, and Lucy suddenly thought that with a beard and eye-patch, he’d even  _ look _ like a pirate.

“I do not have time for children. Go run along and bother someone else.”

Lucy counted to five in her head. She’d had far too much practice doing that recently, but she had to admit Susan was right about it helping. Because that slowed her annoyance enough she noticed that the ambassador’s food was untouched, his hand laid on his leg next to his sword, and his eyes darting to the door and back.

“I’m afraid the dragon has completely disrupted your schedule, so that you  _ do _ have time for children. But if my presence is a bother, I apolo-”

“Dragon sighted!” The yell echoed down the corridor. “It’s landing on the tower!”

Lucy was on her feet and out the door before anyone else. There was, deep in her heart, the hope that the dragon would prove kind. If it did, then she would be the one likeliest to listen. 

She ran down the corridor and out onto the walkway by the parapet, only slowing when she could turn and survey the towers.

A hand grabbed her shoulder as Peter hissed, “Lucy, what are you  _ thinking _ ? You can’t be out-” but his voice died away as they both saw the dragon.

It perched on the highest tower, its wings folded down, its tail wrapped around the stone once and almost a second time, and its head staring down at them. In the afternoon light, its scales shown like jewels, and the sun behind it gave it a halo. It looked as beautiful as it was big. 

Peter took a deep breath; she could hear him, just behind her. Then his left arm came around her shoulders, putting a full-length shield in front of both of them, in case the dragon let loose any flame. 

“Don’t come out from behind the shield until I tell you,” Peter said, his voice hard, rumbling in the chest she could feel behind her. It was the voice she hadn’t heard often, the one he used in battle, and she agreed at once. “We’re moving towards the tower. I want you inside once we’re close enough you can’t be hit.” He moved forward, and she moved with him.

When they reached the parapet below the dragon—hooves and feet stomping on the stone behind them as the soldiers and the bowmen they sheltered followed their King—Peter took another breath, Lucy feeling the rise and fall of his shirt on her hair. He called up to the dragon.

“I am Peter, High King of Narnia. I welcome you to my realm, and ask whether your intentions are friendly, or whether you intend to harm our realm in the manner of the dumb dragons.”

“Such a rousing welcome,” came the rumbling voice from the tower. 

_ Please _ , begged Lucy inside.  _ Please _ ,  _ be my friend _ .

“As for my intentions, well, tiny king, that really is up to you. I am old, and I no longer wish to seek out my own meals, and my cave is cold. Surrender to me your castle, and bring tribute to me of six large animals a week—I care not if they are Talking or dumb—and I shall do no one else any harm. You need not fear for yourselves, Sons of Adam have far too many bones and too little meat to make them worthwhile eating.”

Lucy thought of the enormous dragon eating Mrs. Beaver, or the Lion who talked nonstop, and felt sick. 

_ No, he is no friend of mine. He is the enemy of my people _ . 

At the same time, she felt Peter’s sword arm gently pushing on her elbow, edging her out from behind his shield and towards the tower door. She slipped away from him—feeling the dragon’s eyes on her, and then feeling them move away as Seleth dismissed her as it looked back to the King.

“Cair Paravel is the house of our thrones, and we will not surrender it. But if you swear to take up Narnia’s defense when she has need, and swear to do no harm to those within her, we can find you a cave, and pay you your wages from the herds that do not speak,” she heard Peter say as she closed the door behind her. She took a breath, looking at the winding stair leading both up and down. She knew Peter wanted her to go down, and go within to safety.

But from the top of the tower came the dragon’s voice, mocking, “Tiny king, have you not heard that one does not bargain with dragons? One  _ obeys, _ ” and then a roar and a snap of leather in the air sounded, and the wall behind her felt a wash of heat. 

_ Peter _ . 

_ Oreius _ .

_ Narnia _ .

Lucy ran up the stairs, a hand on the stones, feet slapping the stairs, winding up and up till she reached the top.  _ Aslan, I am here. What am I to do? How am I to help? _

_ Courage, dear heart, _ sounded in her ears, and her heart. She looked around, seeing the open window, the dragon’s armoured tail. To stab that—and she only had her dagger—

And then she remembered, remembered looking at the dragon’s head, and the little divot where its mouth faded into its neck. A divot with no scales. 

She gulped. But her people were below, she could hear them yelling, some screaming, and the hiss of arrows in the air, before they were all drowned out by another roar of flame. She opened the sea-facing window, climbed on the sill, and reached for the roof. 

There was little room. She dodged between the four long, green-grey legs, avoiding the silver claws that clutched the titles, and made her way as quietly as she could under the dragon, going for the head. Seleth had his head bent downwards, near the edge of the roof, to blow his flame down on his enemies. Carefully, going under his neck so his eyes on the side could not see her, Lucy made her way closer. Closer. She felt her feet slide on the tiles and sat quickly. She crab-walked forward, closer and closer, feeling the heat begin to burn on her skin from the fire within reach . 

She couldn’t go further without touching his neck. She rolled over, crouched, and lunged to the side and up, dagger out and stabbing, stabbing from memory, and feeling it go deep, deep inside the dragon’s neck. 

Seleth  _ reared _ , roaring, and Lucy felt the dagger slip through her fingers. But the roar was a death cry. Seleth, still rearing in the air, began to fall backwards, wings outstretched and still.

As he fell his claw caught Lucy’s shoulder, ripping her sleeve, pulling her backward—pulling her off the tower. She heard her name screamed from below, from the parapet, but she was falling above the dragon, towards the sea. 

Another set of claws sank into her leg, a third in her arm, and suddenly there were claws and wings everywhere, as Narnia’s Birds grabbed their Queen and desperately tried to slow her fall, to guide her away from the dragon; to let her fall into the water. 

They made it, and Lucy felt the claws loosen just as the ice-cold water hit. Down into the water she fell, air pushed out of her, and then arms were on her shoulders, pulling her back up almost as fast as she fell.

_The_ _merfolk_ , she thought, slightly dizzy, catching a glimpse of auburn hair. _They must have come to see Sele—_

She did not finish that, suddenly sick with the memory of her dagger sinking into that snout. 

But her head was out of the water, and she gasped for air. She didn’t have to swim, hands already towing her around the cliff and towards the beach. “Thank you,” she said automatically, with chattering teeth, and a singing  _ You’re welcome _ was her only answer, for the mermaid who caught her was too busy pushing her up on the beach, and out of the icy water.

The sky teemed with Birds, and on horseback, galloping down the shore, were Lucy’s siblings, followed by a host. “Lucy!” Susan shrieked, off her horse and wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. 

Peter and Edmund were there an instant later, arms around her, rubbing her arms, trying to warm her—or shake her, Lucy wasn’t sure. She could hear their joy, their anger, and their love spilling out in words she doubted they knew they were saying.

She was suddenly exhausted. She turned her head to look back at Seleth, dead, wings sprawled on the beach. “My dagger’s in its head,” she whispered, remembering, and her siblings quieted. 

“I will have Leo and Por fetch it,” Peter promised, his voice quiet. 

“I  _ liked _ it,” Lucy admitted, tears trembling in her eyes. “I thought I could make it my friend.”

“I’m sorry,” and that was Edmund, grave and gentle all at once. “Some things do not want any love or friendship that would require others to be equals. Not everyone can be befriended.”

_ The worst part _ , Lucy realised,  _ is that I believe him _ .  _ That he’s right _ .

“Come back to Cair.” Susan’s gentle hands took her hair and wrung it out. “We need to get you warm, and you’ll feel better then.”

With a sniff, Lucy agreed. The Four turned—Peter summoning Leo and Por with a quick look, and sending them off to get the dagger and to check the dragon—and the host of soldiers parted before them, a few soldiers bringing forward the horses. Peter mounted first, and then Edmund boosted Lucy up in front of him. He turned the horse with quick skill, and they began the ride back.

Near the end, the back, stood the rest of Cair Paravel. Lucy saw them and burrowed further in the blanket, leaning against Peter and wishing she could hide. 

But she couldn’t, and as she met the eyes of one of the Dwarves, he began to clap. Those around him joined in, then the entire host, all bowing and clapping. At the very end, one man strode forward, standing in front of the horse Peter was forced to bring to a halt, and the clapping died. It was the ambassador from Galma. 

“Early today I said I had no time for children. I was wrong,” he said, voice quiet but clear above the water. “Never have I seen a more valiant Queen.” He bowed and stood back.

“Lucy the Valiant Queen! Lucy the Valiant!” The crowd took up the cry, and Lucy, blinking back the tears, realised that the ride, then and there—being the hero and Queen her people needed—took just as much courage as killing a dragon she thought might be a friend.

But she remembered the clearest memory from that battle, that death.

_ Courage, dear heart _ .

By the strength of Aslan, she would be a Valiant Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *My story Kidnapped.  
> **A Turtle’s Tale.  
> ***I’m aware Eustace wasn’t able to talk as a dragon, but I’m pretending there are different types of dragons, and if one was going to leave its territory to go see Cair Paravel I don’t think it would be a territorial creature of instincts, so my dragon talks and reasons. :)


	3. Rescued from Tash

#  **Prompt #19: Rescue**

_ Tell about a rescue from the temple of Tash. You may use any person, from any perspective. _

It became a tradition through the ages. A legend told in Tash’s temple, recited by the priests to the young acolytes in tones of warning, and whispered by the slaves with hearts of hope. All who went to Tash’s temple remained, for the god’s power was inviolate. All were helpless before it—except the barbarian rulers, guided by a demon lion. When the youngest of Four was stolen by the priests to be a slave offered to their god, the two older brothers destroyed the doors and scoured the halls, only to find her calmly picking the lock on her cell. Later the priests again stole a Queen, newly married. They stole her despite their cautionary tales, for it was said she came from the stars where Zardeena ruled. That was their undoing, for her husband found her by the light that streamed from her person, bringing out both her and their newborn son. Centuries later, the Calormene soldiers brought as tribute the King’s best friend, a white and glorious unicorn, a sacrifice of purity to their god. But Tash did not keep that offering either, for the very young King roared like a lion and the walls fell. (Or so the slaves told it to each other.)

All who went to the temple of Tash were lost. All save those loved by the Barbarian rulers, who stormed walls and cells and soldiers to take back by their swords what had been stolen. 

Yet there is one story, one rescue, where the captive was freed, not by sword, not by power, but by the gentleness of a Queen.

And so the second oldest of the Four earned her title… 

* * *

_ Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.  _ ~ ESV

_ Blessed [inwardly peaceful, spiritually secure, worthy of respect] are the gentle [the kind-hearted, the sweet-spirited, the self-controlled], for they will inherit the earth.  _ ~ AMP

Mr. Tumnus was missing. 

Queen Susan paced back and forth in the small room in Tashbaan, her long hair spinning around her shoulders each time she turned. 

“Perhaps I should ask his Highness, Prince Rabadash, for help to find our missing friend,” she murmured. “The Prince has great power in his own city. And glad would he be, to win my favour by his help. And yet…” 

She remembered the greedy, lascivious look in his eye, the demand for what she had refused to give, the night before when he again asked for her hand. Already his changed manner had made her hesitate. The way his offered love changed to a demand last night made her further wary.

And yet—he had been so kind, so courteous, so humble in Narnia. Perhaps a matter of state was pressing on his mind? Or his father was pressing on him to be married, and he worried? Peter and Edmund grew short-tempered when heavy things weighed on their minds. 

Susan shook herself. It would not be wise to give the Prince a greater hold over her unless it was necessary. She did not yet  _ know _ if her friend, indeed, one of their oldest friends, was in trouble. He had gone out to find a rare book that morning, promising to return for tea. He had been so excited to show it to her. 

Tea came and went, but the Faun did not. Susan asked Lord Peridan to go and look for him, taking their crier with him, and telling him which shop the Faun had turned towards. Lord Peridan had left at once, his alacrity showing his own worry. That had not helped the Queen be calm. 

She turned about the room once again. She passed the wooden chairs, the table spread with trays of food and pots of tea, the gauze curtains floating in the breeze from the orchard. Around again, and her eyes fell on the plate she had laid for their friend. 

Lord Peridan had left hours ago. It would not be easy for him to get information, Susan knew, for most Calormenes reacted to the fair skin with fear or scorn. If only there was one of their own who could ask! The Prince? … 

_ No _ , she reaffirmed her decision.  _ Not unless I must _ . 

Was there any other Calormene she could ask?

She thought back to all the acquaintances they had made. There was not one she truly trusted, she realised with unease. It did not speak well for the land she might be Queen of, that she could not trust the court. 

So not a friend, then. Perhaps someone in the house?

The slaves had all been removed when the Calormenes realised the Narnians treated them “too kindly for their own good.” The crier? 

No, for he did his duty, but his loyalty lay completely to the Prince. If they told the crier, their host would know within hours.

No, there was no Calormene who could help them. Susan paused, looking out the window facing the street. She watched as a Tarkhaan went by on his horse, a merchant sharply pulling at his donkey (who kept turning his head aside towards the sound of the streams in the gardens), and the ever-present run of slaves of errands.

Her thoughts slowed. For there, on the street, hurried a veiled slave girl. 

Veiled. A thought sprang into her mind, as hare-brained as any of Lucy’s schemes. The veil would cover her face—if she added gloves—

_ No _ .  _ Tashbaan is not a place for any to go alone safely. _

_ Yet… the slaves run their errands in the daylight unhindered. _

_ No! ‘Tis a thought too foolish to entertain. I have done with it. _

It was just then that footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Susan turned to see Lord Peridan enter and bow. 

“Your Majesty.” He hesitated.

“What word, Lord Peridan?”

“Your Majesty, Mr. Tumnus entered the shop and purchased  _ The Appearances of the Narnian Lion _ . The storekeeper admitted, after many questions, that the Faun made it scarcely ten paces from the door before he was stopped by some of Tash’s priests. He said that he turned away and did not see how the matter ended. I do not believe him, your Majesty.” 

Susan felt a shiver run through her heart, as if Jadis had touched it. The Narnians had refused to enter the temple of Tash, knowing worship would be required of them, and that an affront to Aslan. But they had heard of the terrible things that happened within. 

And now Mr. Tumnus might be there, might be among those who had no love or mercy for what was different from themselves. Susan’s cheeks grew cold. She could imagine them doing all the things Lucy told her the Faun once dreaded, bloody knives and her friend in whimpering pain. She  _ had _ to stop this. “Send word to my royal brother at once, and ask his advice on making the matter known to our host.” 

“Your Majesty, will you be well?” She looked up to meet Lord Peridan’s grave concern.

“I may not be fully well till our friend is home, but I am well enough to be alone. Though I thank thee for thy concern. Please go at once.”

He bowed once more and turned, walking swiftly down the hall. 

Susan stood, trying to breath evenly. Her mind was filled with pictures of what Mr. Tumnus might suffer; might be suffering now. Even if they went to the Prince, she doubted they would negotiate with the priests in time to regain their friend whole. 

_ Or perhaps we may not save him at all. _

_ I am so afraid.  _

_ But—I could go, now.  _

_ How that fills me with fear! To go to the heart of such a cruel being’s power—I am no warrior, nor even my sister! I am so afraid! _

_ Yet how could I face Lucy, knowing I might have tried to save him, and did not? _

_ How could I face Aslan? _

_ Great Lion, send Your courage to my heart.  _

_ By Your strength, this must—I do not think any other way can be found to do this. _

She moved towards her chamber. She changed, first, from the free-flowing Narnian gown to some of the more restrictive clothing the Tarkheenas had showered on her as gifts. She bound her hair back in the manner of a slave. (How her fingers shook! Twice she had to redo it. The shaking made things so much harder, if she could just  _ be calm _ .) And then she rose, heading for her closest. 

There was no veil.

_ Aslan—am I not to do this? _

_ No. I—fearful as I am, I must save him.  _

_ Where am I to find a veil? _

A knock at her door startled her, and before she could answer the door burst open.

Corin, impetuous, chivalrous, impatient Prince Corin, came running into the chamber, only to stop short at the sight of her.

“I say! What are you dressed like a Calormene for?” He tilted his head critically. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Prince Corin, hast been a good friend to me, since thy royal mother died. Wilt help me now?”

Corin sobered at her pleading tone. “Of course.”

“I need a veil, such as the slaves sometimes use. And then, Prince Corin, your silence on this matter, till I have left!”

“You’re going on an adventure, aren’t you! Can’t I come?”

Susan shuddered at the idea of Prince Corin trying to pass himself off as a Calormene—as trying to pass himself off as anything but himself, for that matter—and shook her head. “Male slaves do not go veiled.”

“We’ve got more sense than that.” He sighed. “I get stuck with all the boring stuff. But there’s some veils in the closest in the hall I use to hide from Sallowpad, when I don’t want any lessons. 

“I wilt not betray thy hiding place,” Susan offered, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. But it did not reach her eyes, for the Queen was afraid. Prince Corin was too young to see it, and just nodded, trailing after the Queen as she walked to the closest on the ground floor, opening the doors and pulling out the veil, wrapping it around herself. She turned to Corin.

“Dost know me, Prince?”

His nose wrinkled. “Your voice doesn’t sound anything like theirs. I’d know it playing seek-and-find in the dungeons at night. But you look all right. You look like  _ them _ , anyway. Are you sure I can’t come?”

Susan bit her lip. He was right. She drew to mind all she had heard of the slaves speaking, the very few times they spoke. “I am very sure, O my Master. Forgive this unworthy servant, but I cannot take thee into mine adventure.”

Corin stared, eyes large and mouth open for a moment. Then he frowned. “I don’t like it when you sound like that.”

Queen Susan laughed, though the sound had a hint of tears in it. “‘Tis not to my taste either, Prince Corin. But it must, I think, be done.” She set the veil back, and leaned forward to kiss her young playmate’s forehead. “Go back into the house, and see thou stays away from trouble! I shall—I hope by the Lion—be back soon.” She raised the veil again and left.

Walking through the streets was strange. The hot air was filled with cries of wares, cries of making way, and the bustle of a city. But it held little of Narnia’s cheer, its merry greetings, and its familiar kindness. None recognised her, in the way of Narnian or Calormene. She was invisible in a way she had not been since that vague, shadowy other place. People pushed against her, shoved her aside, and called jeering insults if she did not make way before them. 

She did not like it. The lack of the familiar love and respect bit at her heart, making it ache.

But she could endure it for a day, an hour, for the sake of a friend. She looked towards the higher buildings. 

Tashbaan had but one major temple. 

She walked over an hour, going ever higher. In the richer neighborhoods there was a little less traffic. The shoves and the bruising hands became less, but she worried about being more visible.

Yet Tarkhaan after Tarkhaan, ones who bowed to the floor as Prince Rabadash introduced her, hurried by without a single glance. Soldiers never moved their eyes in her direction.

She could not imagine a single Sparrow being treated so in Narnia. Was this her suitor’s realm?

It—perhaps there was more to the Prince’s greed than she thought, for his whole realm ran saturated with the importance of each person’s own self. 

Unless one was an invisible slave.

She reached the temple. Higher than the Tisroc’s own palace, it gleamed with gold and with white marble arches, and in the shaded courtyards green fronds waved. 

She could enter at the front. It was not uncommon for Tarkheenas to send slaves with their gifts to the god, to bow before his altar and leave the offering there. She could also go in one of the three side entrances, for the temple had its own slaves—and that might be safer, for she had never heard a single one speak. It had been whispered to a horrified Lord Peridan that their tongues were taken out at the start of their service, to insure their silence. 

She entered the dark corridor, seeing her way by the light of lanterns hanging from the walls. Each had the image of Tash inscribed on each glass pane, and large shadows with cruel beaks were cast on every wall. Susan shuddered, her feet slowing.

_ Can I do this? _

_ No! I—I don’t want to. I can’t! _

_ Yet—neither I cannot leave Mr. Tumnus in a place such as this, if he is here.  _

_ Aslan, what must I do? _

“You! Come in here!” The harsh, authoritative voice startled Susan, and she whirled, remembering just in time to keep all sounds inside her mouth. 

She was dressed as a slave. She would obey, she would have to. So she hurried to the open door, pausing at the doorstep.

“Thy worthlessness is greater than the bones left from the fires. Ten minutes to fetch—where is the basin?” The tall, fat man, dressed in rich robes and seated on a purple-cushioned chair, looked her over from head to toe. “Thou art not Richten.” Susan shook her head. “I have no time before the new sacrifice to wait on such a worthless, vile, lazy slave. Come do his task. Take the basin and wash my feet.”

Susan looked to the table he gestured at, set by the wall, and moved over to fetch the large, golden basin. It was larger than her waist, shallow, and filled with water. She picked it up carefully and moved over to the priest. She went to set it down, only to be stopped by his sharp voice. 

“Worthless daughter of a donkey! The hands must be done before the feet!” He held his hands out, and Susan moved to set the basin on his lap. “Insolence! I will have thee whipped! Sit before me on the footstool and take the basin into thine own lap.” Susan sat as quickly as she could without spilling the water, hoping—praying—he did not have her remove her gloves to wash his hands. Her skin would be far too fair against his. 

But apparently the priests did not like slaves actually touching them. Susan balanced the basin on her lap and took one of his hands in hers, gently dipping it in the water, rinsing the fingers, the palms, and letting it go to take the other one. 

This was familiar, something she had done for many wounded soldiers. She dried the hands on her veil and set them down, ready to kneel and wash the feet.

The priest was looking at her with surprise. “Ignorance is thy affliction, but thou has no lack of skill.” He sighed when Susan lifted his foot and gently removed his slipper. “And I shall be clean for the sacrifice. I feel Tash smiles the most when it is his enemies sacrificed on his altar.” Susan’s fingers trembled. Tash had many enemies, but she doubted there were many in Tashbaan at the moment.

She had been right to come. 

She set the one foot down and picked up the other, removing the slipper and setting it on the floor. When she had finished, she stood.

“Pick up the basin! ‘Tis not for me to walk over. But set it on the table, for I have another errand to send you on. Go to the prison and signify that I am ready to begin, so they may bring me the prisoner with the two horns.” Susan inhaled sharply. He was here. 

But the priest mistook the sound for one of fear. “Fie on thee for cowardice! In the very temple of Tash—what can touch thee here, if thee faithfully serves him? He is in the cell two doors down and to the left. Oh, and take with thee this,” striding over to the table and picking up one of two crystal vials. The one he held had a dark red liquid. “So that they may wake him, and he may know the fear of Tash as his blood is spilled on the altar!” Susan took it in one hand, bowing her head. She waited till he left the room, and looked at the vial in her hand, held in front of the basin.

She knew where Mr. Tumnus was. She was  _ sure _ it was him, with the two small horns on his head. But how could she save him? She was no Peter, to swing a sword and force two guards to their knees. If only she had her bow!

The red of the liquid caught her eye. She looked at its twin, with the clear liquid in it. There was a chance—if this woke a Faun from sleep, perhaps the clear liquid would cause it? 

She set the basin down on the table, tucked the red liquid into a fold of her gown, and picked up the clear liquid. She sniffed it, and smelled the heavy herbs that some of the healers used in Narnia. 

Well, then.

She took a pitcher of wine from the table and poured the clear liquid into it, mixing it in with a spoon. It was six or seven times the normal dose, but that should mean the guards slept quickly. She picked up two goblets in the other hand, the plainest ones she could find on the ornate table, and left. 

The corridor went by quickly, her steps as rapid as her breathing, and the figure of Tash flicking in her eyesight everywhere she turned. She stepped into the door two corridors down and to the left. 

“Stop, in the name of Tash!” and she nearly walked into two speartips. She stopped, holding out the pitcher and the goblets. 

“Ah, sent for us?” one of the two soldiers inquired. Susan nodded, but her stomach turned at his looks. His eyes flashed with the same gleam as Prince Rabadash’s did, and his dark hair, dark skin—and he held out his hand for a goblet with the same greed that the Prince had shown in their meeting earlier. 

The other guard, a bald man with an old and wrinkled face, stared at the slave. “Why would they send us wine?” he asked harshly, stopping his partner with one hand as the younger man reached for the pitcher. 

Susan thought fast, and pointed to the cell. The soldier looked back. “They want the prisoner?” She nodded, praying he would drink  _ first _ . “And they sent this to celebrate his capture?” She nodded again, and the balding man relaxed. He took the other goblet from her hand, and took the pitcher, pouring both full.

“To the victory of the inexorable Tash over his enemies! May all their blood be spilled on his altar!” the younger toasted before downing the wine in a gulp. 

_ Oh. I have heard Prince Rabadash say that, call Tash inexorable. Is this what he means? That his god takes all he wishes, and what he wishes is blood, and victory, and wine? _

_ Prince, is this the land thou rules?  _

_ I have no wish to rule it with thee. Nor, anymore, do I wish for thee. If thou follows this god, thy heart is as black as the dried blood on thy god’s altar. _

_ How could it be thus? Thou was so kind, once! _

The bald man poured again. Susan saw drops of wine spill from the pitcher to the floor as he blinked, unable to focus on the goblets.

Praise, praise to Aslan!

_ How soon wilt they come look for the prisoner? _

“Why does thee stand there, like an omen of ill? Thy task is done. Get thee gone!” he ordered sharply, filling his partner’s glass.

Susan reached into her dress and pulled out the red vial. 

“He is to wake?” She nodded. “Give it here.” She shook her head, pulling back. She tapped her own chest. The warrior scowled. “Tash’s curse on thee, ill-witted wretch! None may go into the prisoner’s cell but Tash’s own!” Susan blinked. She hesitantly began to hold out the vial, but the younger guard snorted. 

“And what is a slave of Tash, but Tash’s own property? If thou drops the vial in thy drunken steps and it breaks, the priest will whip our backs. Let the slave do the task.”

“I do not like it, but thou speaks sense. I go with thee, though, slave!” Leaning on his spear, the guard turned, fumbling at his belt for his keys. He opened the door, and Susan went through.

The cell was narrow, scarcely wide enough for two Fauns laid side by side. On the floor lay a curled figure. Susan knelt by his side, turning his face towards the light with gentle fingers.

He looked unharmed, and she thanked Aslan with her whole heart.

“Ugh,” groaned the guard behind her. “Something… something’s wrong. I should… I should call…” 

Susan was on her feet before he finished, carefully, gently guiding him to the floor, catching his spear before it could fall and leaning it against the wall. Then she turned hastily back to Mr. Tumnus, putting the vial gently to his lips and holding his nose so he breathed in. She tipped some of the liquid in.

She took the vial away and counted off the seconds, praying it would not be more than the normal ten before he awoke. Five, six. She did not know how much longer they had before someone came looking. Nine, ten… 

Mr. Tumnus woke with a gasp, sitting straight up. “Goodness gracious me! Where—where am I?”

Susan put her hand quickly over his mouth, and took his wrist in the other, tugging him to his feet. She got up herself, and gently pulled him forward. Into the corridor, where the younger guard—still painfully like Prince Rabadash—lay sprawled on the floor. She put her hands under his arms and pulled him backwards, Mr. Tumnus beginning to ask questions. She shook her head sharply, and the Faun hushed and helped her. Once both guards were in the cell—and they barely fit—and she’d shut the door, she took the Faun’s hand and began leading him back the way they came, stopping at every doorway to listen for footsteps.

Mr. Tumnus had seen the images of Tash, and knew to ask no more, and to wait while she guided him out. The wait felt an age to Susan, each second a chance of discovery. But she could feel Mr. Tumnus’ hand trembling in hers, and she kept hers firm and steady, a counterpart to his fear. 

There, there was the light! Pure sunlight, golden, with shadows that caused no fears. She looked outside and waited, begging for Aslan to clear the courtyard so they could cross. If they could just get into the street-

What then? A Narnian Faun in the streets with a covered slave girl? They'd never make it home!

_ Oh, Aslan, what do I do now? _

A low growl, soft enough to be a whisper, deep enough to make her heart shake, sounded. There, from her left, and she turned and saw a donkey laden with packs. She laughed a silent, breathless laugh. Of course! 

And then, another miracle, for the courtyard cleared. She hurried ahead, still holding onto the Faun, and quickly emptied out one of the packs, taking the long priestly garments and dumping them behind one of the potted trees. Then she turned to Mr. Tumnus and pointed inside. He looked at her with curious eyes.

_ Oh, please, we do not have the time for me to explain why you cannot be seen- _

“Why are you helping me?” he whispered. “A slave to Tash—do you want to come to Narnia? To meet Aslan, and to be free?”

A sound behind him made him jump, and he climbed on top of the donkey and slid into the pack, Susan reaching forward to hold it open, and then close the lid gently over his horned head, before she answered the question. Then she took the donkey’s lead, took a deep breath, and moved back out into the streets of Tashbaan. 

The walk back to their home was hot, loud, and Susan felt her spirit drag more with every step. Why had she come to this place? It brought nothing but curses on her and her loved ones. The roads were a maze, with no sense or order or kindness. She hoped Mr. Tumnus was not jostled too badly, for she herself could feel bruises on her arms and shoulders, and she just wanted to be  _ home _ . 

There, the villa was in sight! She quickened her steps, and stopped before the gate. 

The two Narnian guards looked at her kindly but quizzically, and she reached up and opened the veil for a bare moment, showing them her face. Their startled looks were something she would long remember—something to laugh at with Lucy and Edmund far, far later—and they hastily opened the gate.

_ It is  _ _ good _ _ to feel like a Queen again,  _ she thought with weary pleasure.

Inside the courtyard, she reached back and opened the pack. Mr. Tumnus stumbled out of it with stretches, awkwardness, and with the help of her hands, gentle on the prisoner’s stiff limbs. 

“Thank you. Yes, yes, thank you so much! You—you are Aslan-sent. Only in Him have I met such gentleness and love, meek power that can go through the most fearsome of barriers and the darkest of places. Tell me, can you stay with us? I am sure my dear friends, the Narnian Kings and Queens, would love to meet you.”

Susan laughed, though she could feel the tears starting. He was such a dear old friend, and they were  _ safe _ . She reached up and pushed the veil all the way back.

And his face—yet another memory, for his eyes went wider than she thought they could, and his mouth dropped open as he started hopping from foot to foot.

“Queen Susan! Your Majesty, you—you shouldn’t have—bless my soul! Bless my soul!” 

“Come, I must be out of these Calormene clothes,” she said, holding her hand out to him. “But promise me, oldest of my sister’s friends, that no more wilt thou go walking through the streets of Tashbaan alone.” For she did not think she could bear another adventure like this; she felt tired, and like crying, and laughing, and sleeping all at once. 

“I promise,” the Faun said, sobering into gravity, taking her hand and kissing it. “Let us get you inside, and comfortable.” They turned towards the door, only to have Edmund appear. Taking in their appearance—and that caused his eyebrow to raise—he hurried them inside, sitting his exhausted sister down and giving her something cold to drink and something to eat before asking about her manner of dress. 

She told him a limited version of what she had done, and he frowned, paced, and listened well, for he was Edmund, but she could tell he did not like it. Yet there seemed to be something else on his mind. 

“‘Twas foolish to take such risks,” he said gravely, at the end. “But are you sure, sister fair, thou heard only of one prisoner? Not two?”

“I am sure,” she replied, startled. “Why, Edmund, what is the matter? Thy face is wrought with worry.”

“Prince Corin is missing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Aaaand that leads into the book. Also, again, I’m sure she earned her title long before this, but I’m going to try to get all four titles in these February prompts, which means a greater bendings of cannon and time than normal.


	4. The Just King and the Dryads

I looked at the double doors, made of the darkest and most beautiful wood our long-ago ancestors had offered, and I despaired.

I had come for help, for  _ justice _ , but… 

It was my word against my neighbor’s. How as a King or Queen to judge between us? She was far lovelier to the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve than I. I glanced over at her, at the pure white flowers that grew in abundance through her air, at the long graceful limbs, at her swaying height. One day, when I was four decades old, I would have as many flowers, I would reach that height, but for now—I touched the three flowers in my hair and looked at the floor.

_ It may not matter _ , a voice in my head reminded me. It sounded like the voices of the old, old Oaks and Willows, made of memories that drifted from their trees to mine on the wind, and the voice seldom grew twisted.  _ A good judge does not allow fairer forms to alter his judgement. _

The Four  _ had _ to be good kings and queens, since Aslan Himself crowned them, but the whispering doubts rustled through my mind, reminding me a good king was not always the same as a good judge.

But I  _ needed _ this. It had been mine, it truly had, I had reached it, claimed it, rejoiced in every whispering branch, before she ever touched the trunk. I  _ knew _ I had been first, I had checked it thoroughly for any sign it had been claimed, but there had been no hints, no seeds, to weavings or crowns. I had! I was the first-

_ And how is the King or Queen to know that? _ spoke that rustling doubt.  _ Your pleading proves nothing _ .

The doors opened, and a large brown Bear ambled out. “The case of the Cherry Dryads,” he rumbled in just below a roar. 

_ I can go in. I will plead my case, and they  _ _ have _ _ to hear me. _

_ But will they? _

She walked in, just behind her neighbor. Her flower petals closed as she realised that she took that submissive stance.  _ This will not help my case _ . 

The two of us curtised, and rose. There, at least, I had done as well as her.

There was one King on the four thrones—the younger King, I guessed, for I had heard he was slighter in shoulder than his brother, and he sat on one of the middle thrones. 

“The two Dryads come to have your judgement on a disputed tree, your Majesty,” the Bear intoned. The King sat forward.

“What are your names?”

“Alcienne, your Majesty.”

“I’m Sakura, your Majesty,” and I curtsied again. 

“Both of you have your own trees; do you dispute a tree that is in the middle, that interferes with either of your growth?”

“No, your Majesty,” my neighbor began. 

“It is much more important than that,” I interrupted, desperate not to have  _ her _ explain it. “Both of us are ready to raise a child, your Majesty, and we must find a tree to grow our child in. And I found one, and I found it first!”

“No, your Majesty,  _ I _ found it first. I found it before this young Dryad even left her tree, and chose it for my child, my first child. I laid my twigs around its trunk and claimed it for my own. But this summer, when I came back to it, ready to make it into a Dryad’s home, I found my neighbor had taken away my ring and set her own ring of cherries around it!”

“There was no ring!” I cried. “I found the tree first, your Majesty, and I checked it for wreaths, for rings, for any touch of a Dryad, and there were none! I was the first to find the new home.  _ My _ ring of cherries marked the tree as mine, and she crushed them and put her own wreath afterwards!”

“When was this?” the young King asked, his voice quiet. 

“Two weeks ago,” I replied, my voice catching as I remembered coming and finding that beautiful, slender tree, with green twigs spreading from every branch—and my crushed cherries bleeding into the roots. 

“Two weeks and four days,” my neighbor corrected, her voice kind. “She is young, your Majesty, and misses many things.”

“I  _ don’t! _ Not when they mean so much as this! Your Majesty, please, the tree is  _ mine _ -”

The King held up a hand. “If it was so long ago, there is no way to check for disturbances, to see who laid their claim first. It is the world of one against the word of the other.”

_ So it is, _ I thought, and bowed my head, my hair sweeping in front of my face.  _ There is nothing the King can do. Will we both lose the tree, then?  _

“Since there is no way to settle who owns the tree, the only fair option is to divide it between you. I will send a woodsman with an axe, and he will chop it in half, half for Alcienne, and half for Sakura.”

_ No.  _

_ No. This was far worse—that tree was  _ _ lovely _ _ , alive, and soon its blooms would blossom. _

_ No, I could not endure for it to be cut down! For a living, lovely thing to become a prize, and in the becoming lose its life! _

“That is fair, your Majesty,” Alcienne agreed, sweeping forward in a deep bow. “Your wisdom is justly praised.”

“No!”  _ How could she? Not that tree, so young and ready! Better—better for her to have it, than for it to die _ . “I beg you, your Majesty, please let her have it. I will renounce all my claim, and let her grow her own child in it. Just let it live, and flourish.” I knelt, bending forward, pleading. “Let it live, your Majesty. I will even move, if I must; only let it live.”

“You renounce your claim?” he asked.

_ Yes. I can save it, if I just give it up.  _ “Yes, your Majesty.”

“Then you have won your case.” 

I looked up at him, startled. He was smiling. 

“Your Majesty?” I asked, uncertain, and I heard the rustling of leaves behind me as Alcienne heard as well.

“To truly own a thing is to care for it; one who does not care for one’s possessions soon loses or breaks them. You, Sakura, showed your care for this tree as you pleaded for its life; by your love you have claimed it, as you, Alcienne, by your carelessness have lost it. If you both had loved it, it would be a harder case, but in this, the judgement is clear. Go, Sakura, and love your child’s home the way Dryads tell me such homes must be loved.”

“Your...Majesty, I— _ thank you _ ,”

“It is  _ mine! _ ” Alcienne raged, her hair and arms rising, her hairs shedding petals like a tree in a storm. “It is perfect for my child, it is  _ mine _ !” 

“Would it still be the perfect home for your child if it were dead, and half of it laying at your roots?” the King asked calmly. 

“That would be  _ fair! _ ”

“But not just. To be just is to be both fair, and morally right; and it is not morally right to give a living thing to a keeper that would kill it. I, in Aslan’s name, declare this judgement to be just, that the tree is awarded to Sakura. You are both dismissed.”

The Bear stepped forward and took one of Alcienne’s arms in his strong, enormous paw, and led her quickly out. I rose from the floor and curtsied one more time.

“Thank you for being just, your Majesty.” I retreated outside the dark, beautiful, carved doors and watched them close. 

“So that is a just King,” I whispered to myself. “I feel like I’ve been to the court of Aslan.”

I was not to know it then, of course, but my words were overheard by a Centaur, and he, curious, learned the story from the Bear, and spread it to the members of Cair Paravel. They, in turn, began calling my judge King Edmund the Just. Years later, when I heard my own story retold to me, my daughter sitting by my side, I smiled, and wondered how the rest of them had earned their titles. 

And now I have told you all that I have learned, and I hope your ears and heart are the better for it.

Aslan, and all His Kings and Queens, be with you in your dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: to give credit where credit is due, this entire story is inspired by the story of King Solomon and the two women who came to him. Only I didn’t feel like having Edmund offer to cut a child in half, so I tried to work around that.


	5. My King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soon after I wrote “Burning White,” where Patterfeet sees Peter rescue his siblings. I thought of how his siblings saw him, and, remembering a specific passage from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe in conjunction with that, my brain birthed this.

_“_ _But none of the three were looking at Queen Lucy. Their eyes were fixed on something ahead of us._

_“Oh, Peter,” whispered Queen Susan._

_I turned around. Around the High King lay dead or dying Fell. His helmeted crown shone in the light, his sword flashed in a dancing flame, and his entire being radiated that terrible light of unstoppable glory.”_

* * *

I once wanted you kneeling at my feet.

Of all the things I found sweetest, of all the promises she made, I never told you the one I dreamed of the most on that long walk to her castle. I saw myself making decent roads, smoothing my own way till my entire life was a walk of ease. I saw myself making laws, wielding power as easily as I breathed.

(I make laws now. It is one of the hardest things I do.)

But Peter, Peter, I never told you, I never confessed, that what I dwelt on the most was you, my King, at my feet. I pictured every detail. Your eyes fixed downwards, not daring to look up and judge me. Your hands were trembling. (I had never seen you afraid, but I would make you afraid, I _would_ ). Your shoulders bent under the weight of my authority. I was above you, so _far_ above you that you could never reach my height. You were beneath me, where you belonged. I was where _I_ belonged.

My King. I watch the sun burning on your sword, your eyes as stern and terrible as a star’s pure light, and I wince at my former dreams. What a fool I was.

I have all that I asked for, and I have none of it. 

You _have_ knelt at my feet. When I sat wounded, unable to bend and bandage my leg, you came in. Without a word, you _knelt_. You cut off the soiled material, kneeling before me, careful of my pain. You washed the wound, water running in warm streams, so gentle as I flinched, and your strong hands wound bandages around my hurt once you finished. You, _the High King_ _._ You knelt, and by kneeling made your glory greater. 

Now I willingly kneel to you. High King over me and my sisters, over Narnia, made so by Aslan, it is a _joy_ to kneel to your authority. Even there, You acknowledge my authority. And I have made you tremble, even cry, as I lay on a field dying. There is greater joy in kneeling than in having others kneel; I have been given the better part.

I am so glad, now, that I did not get what I wanted. Thanks be to Aslan, I did not live what I dreamed. Now, I see you fight, I see you burn, and I see those you lead. I know in my heart I would follow you anywhere. My brother, you forgave me for all that I once was, but sometimes I see so clearly how foolish were my desires. He who lifted you has lifted me, but put you higher, and I am fiercely glad for it.

You see us, and you are running. Your arms around us, your voice in our ears, thanking Him. Peter, I thank Him too. 

Your gentle hands on Lucy, lifting her up.

Oh, my King, you are magnificent. You are safety, you are _home_ _,_ you and Susan and Lucy, and I do not deserve any of you.

I do not deserve anything, but He gave it to me to kneel to you.

He gave me so much more than all I once desired.

**Author's Note:**

> *Oh, the Squirrel is mine, and if you haven’t met him before, he’s introduced in Enemies Against. There’s some minor spoilers for that story here.  
> **Paraphrasing “Demons run when a good man goes to war,” by Steven Moffat, I think.


End file.
